“Okay, I’ve got to go pick out wallpaper for the nursery and book Lamaze classes.”
She laughed as he’d intended, and it struck her how much lighter she felt by telling him everything.
“And don’t forget, you still owe me that lunch I didn’t get when I left you and Kushi to sort things out.”
“I’ll be in touch, okay? Because if Mom didn’t like the news about Rory, I have a feeling that learning she’s going to be a grandma may require a lot more ‘sorting out.’”
He chuckled. “Good luck. And take care.”
“Thanks, you too.”
She disconnected and placed the cell back on the bedside table. She would never enter another marriage not based on true love, but for a scant second, when she envisioned doing all this on her own versus having a supportive guy like Manny by her side, she’d been tempted.
Thirty-One
Fatherhood.
How could Rory contemplate being a dad when he didn’t know how?
Garth had been a lousy role model. All he’d learned from his father was how to be a harsh disciplinarian, not spend much time with your kid, and throw money at the problem. Way to go, Dad.
Not that Rory didn’t like kids. He did. After all, wasn’t he putting himself out there in the most terrifying way possible by hosting Renegades to help kids?
He liked hanging out with them at the housing commission flats. Kids had an inherent honesty, a bluntness he appreciated. He could relate because he had a low tolerance for bullshit. But spending time with other people’s kids and raising one of his own were worlds apart.
He’d been reeling when he left Samira’s apartment last night to the extent he hadn’t realized until an hour later he may not even be around for his kid. Samira would head back to LA at the end of her six-month stint at Pia’s health center, taking his child with her. It was in that moment of realization he felt something akin to regret.
He may not want to father a child for fear of passing on his speech impediment, but now it had happened, being a dad could grow on him.
Considering the way he’d handled the news, he wouldn’t blame Samira for not wanting him anywhere near their child. He’d been an idiot, his insecurities manifesting at the worst possible time. She didn’t know about his stutter or his fears of passing it on to a child, so she’d see him as a douche rather than a guy dealing with a bone-deep fear of giving his kid an impediment that dogged him to this day and he wouldn’t wish on anybody.
He should tell her the truth. But would it be fair, giving her one more thing to worry about? Their kid could be fine and speak fluently, so why burden her with his fears?
Once he got this obligatory visit with his dad out of the way, he’d call her. He needed to apologize and show his support.
As he trudged up the path, glancing at the well-kept garden, the trimmed hedges, the blossoming flowers, he had the same dread in his gut as every time he’d dragged his feet up this path after school each day.
His father’s mansion may appear immaculate on the outside, but it was all for show and, just like his dad, cold on the inside. He’d known kids at his snobby private school deigned to acknowledge his existence only because Garth Radcliffe was a highly regarded barrister in Melbourne and they knew he lived in an elite part of Brighton.
Though it didn’t stop them teasing him mercilessly, mocking his speech, even though he’d mastered a lot of techniques to control his stutter by the time he finished high school. The only place he’d shone was onstage, encouraged into acting by Amelia as a way to master his fears of speaking in front of others, but then the bullies had teased him for a different reason, labeling him effeminate and worse.
He hadn’t told his dad any of it. What would be the point, when Garth already saw him as a failure anyway? Not by his grades; the only time his dad vaguely looked at him with pride was twice a year, when the end of semester brought reports. Rory had always killed it with straight As because he had half a brain in his head, particularly for figures, and spent more time studying than most because he didn’t have any friends. His dad had been mighty impressed when he’d chosen to major in economics; less so when he turned his back on a lucrative career in business to tumble around a movie set instead.
As he rang the doorbell, Rory wondered what his dad would make of his impending fatherhood. Not that he’d tell him now, but he knew Garth would view it as yet another disappointment.
A housekeeper he didn’t recognize opened the door, a woman of about sixty wearing a plain black dress and her blond-turning-silver hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. “You must be Rory. I’m Bertha.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m here to see my dad.”
“He’s been called away on business, but he asked you to wait for him.” She opened the door wide. “Come in. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine,” he said, clamping down on a flash of indignation. Why hadn’t dear old dad sent a text or called him to let him know about the change of plans? They could’ve canceled this catch-up today and rescheduled. He hated having to wait around like his time wasn’t as important as his dad’s.
“I’m in the kitchen doing an online grocery order if you need anything,” she said, closing the door. “You know your way around.”
She left him standing in the marble-tiled hallway, feeling like a stranger in what had once been his home. Not that it felt like one. Too many pristine glass surfaces and shiny floors. He’d hated having to take his shoes off at the front door before he came in, in case a speck of mud dotted the floor. And that had been just one of the many rules he’d had to live by.
Always sit at the table for dinner, even if his dad never spoke to him. No screens after nine p.m., including TV, computer, cell, and laptop. No mixing with the scholarship kids. No social media profiles that could reflect badly on him. Lights out at ten, unless he had tests and had to study. No going out on school nights, which was ironic, as he’d have to have friends to do that. On and on, a long list he’d hated almost as much as the fraught silences whenever he was with his dad.
He often wondered why Garth didn’t ship him off to boarding school. Would’ve made their lives a hell of a lot easier. Instead, they’d coexisted in this mausoleum of a house, tolerating each other with frosty silences.
He paced the hallway a few times, tempted to slip away. He could text his dad with the same excuse Garth had used, “called away on business.” Glancing at his watch, he decided to give him another fifteen minutes before heading off.
He strolled into the library, a large room where his dad did the bulk of his work behind a monstrous mahogany desk, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling matching shelves filled with law texts and classics. No commercial fiction for Dad.